


Playing Cupid (for a Sucker)

by tequilamockinbird



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Humor, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tequilamockinbird/pseuds/tequilamockinbird
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves fascinated with the angel and demon who have been sent to Earth to take over their former jobs... despite reports that Heaven and Hell plan to punish them once again, this time with fates worse than death.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53
Collections: Week 1: Playing Cupid





	1. Shot through the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethereal presence(s?)

“I still find it ridiculous you had never been,” Crowley said as he and Aziraphale wound their way from The Electric Cinema in Notting Hill toward the garage where the Bentley was parked. Aziraphale held a miraculously enlarged beige umbrella to protect them from the pouring rain. Crowley was reminded of his wing… although the wall of Eden had been a _bit_ less crowded than this.

“I would like to go again,” Aziraphale said, “if only to try out the armchairs or the sofas. How did they manage to make the mistake of putting us on one of the beds?”

_It wasn’t a mistake. It was the closest I’m ever gonna get to being in bed with you._

Crowley looked away innocently. “Pshh, beats me.”

Aziraphale grabbed his arm. Hard. Shit, had he figured it out? Was he going to get told off?

“Don’t panic,” Aziraphale said. “But I just sensed an angelic presence.”

How was he supposed to not panic about that? The other angels wanted Aziraphale killed. 

“Which direction?” Crowley asked. 

“Behind us.”

Crowley fell back a step, glancing over his shoulder.

“Don’t be obvious,” Aziraphale said. “If they’re stalking us, we don’t want them to know we know, or they might change their mind and confront us. I am not looking for such a confrontation. Who knows? Maybe it’s a coincidence. Someone is going to have to take over our jobs eventually, now that we’re… retired.”

This did not put Crowley’s mind at ease. He reached out with his powers and… he could sense the presence, too. It was distant, but an angel was nearby.

They stopped at the bus stop. 

“These poor shoes,” Aziraphale whined. “They’re going to need maintenance when I get home.”

Crowley almost smiled, still straining to look back towards the theater, where the angel must be. “Just wear wellies like everybody else when it’s going to rain.”

“I will not. Can you imagine big, clunky wellies with my wardrobe?”

“Yes, and I love it.” Crowley was momentarily distracted as the bus squeaked to a halt at the stop. 

“You are outlandish,” Aziraphale said, then cried out a small, “Oh!”

“What is it?” Crowley asked.

“Strange, I feel something… different. It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

Crowley then felt himself struck by the strangest sensation, a lightness in his chest like he was looking forward to something in particular, but couldn’t remember what. It felt like a… good omen.

Strange human bodies and their weird hormones, attacking out of the blue. 

They boarded the bus back towards downtown.

*

Aziraphale stared at the books on his desk, trying to decide whether it was too far to stock Borges with the mathematics textbooks instead of literature, and if it would be fair to hide his Wilde novels in poetry - they were poetic, after all, it was just prosaic poetry…

And yet he wasn't stressed about it. He wasn't fretting like he normally did. He'd gotten a good feeling leaving the theatre with Crowley the night before, and it hadn't faded yet. 

In fact, it was getting stronger. He felt like something good was about to happen.

Crowley, for his part, was on the sofa with his legs propped over the arm, reading a ratty copy of The Da Vinci Code and cackling intermittently. 

The bookshop door jingled, and Aziraphale instinctively exited the back room for the bookshop proper.

A black man stood in a white t-shirt and jeans, gazing around the shop as if in wonder. 

And Aziraphale instantly knew he was an angel.

He also instantly knew he liked this angel… but he shouldn't. He could be here to kill him.

"Crowley," he hissed into the back room. "We have an ethereal guest."

Crowley bolted to his feet and nearly tripped over the coffee table. 

Aziraphale turned to stride up to the angel. He had dreadlocks falling past his shoulders, a bit of facial hair, and round, thin-rimmed glasses. 

"Good afternoon. How may I help you?"

The angel snapped to attention and held out his hand. "Aziraphale. Honor to meet you. I'm Barachiel."

"Charmed," Aziraphale said, honestly and yet with trepidation. He shook the large proffered hand and found it gentle. "What can I help you with today? I daresay you probably don't require a book."

Barachiel shrugged. "Books might help. I'm here for guidance. I'm Heaven's new agent on Earth."

"I see," Aziraphale said skeptically. "I must ask, does this mean they given up on punishing me?"

"I'm afraid not," Barachiel said. "They mentioned something about a fate worse than death, but I know nothing else. I apologize."

"And you're still working for the fuckers?" Crowley chimed in.

"Yes," Barachiel said simply, extending a hand. "You must be -"

“Yeah, I'm Crowley, and you can shove your handshake up your -”

“I quite like your glasses,” Aziraphale blurted. “I wear reading glasses, myself, sometimes, for the aesthetic.”

Barachiel blinked. “I need these. I’m nearsighted.”

“Yeah, we have these powers called miracles for shit like that,” Crowley huffed. 

Barachiel was unfazed. “I miracled myself the condition. A minor disability seemed fair, to achieve a human experience.”

Aziraphale spent a second in stunned silence. This angel would be better at Aziraphale’s former job than he had ever been.

But he was happy to relinquish the position. “Barachiel, how familiar are you with human history? That seems like the best place to start.”

“I know the Bible, but I understand it contains many human-driven inaccuracies.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale said. He led Barachiel to the history section and recommended a few primary sources along with some less biased summations. 

Crowley skulked nearby and glowered.

Aziraphale, however, found himself fascinated with Barachiel. What a wholesome soul, to take so many pieces of the human condition into consideration, to make that effort to empathize. He might be terse and stoic, but he clearly cared. 

He had an idea. “Of course, I myself am a primary source for many of these events. I could tell you stories, if you like. Are you on a timetable?”

“No.”

“Wonderful. Do you eat?”

“Not yet. I intend to try.”

“Then how about we meet for brunch tomorrow? I can promise you a most scrumptious introduction to food.”

Barachiel nodded. 

Once they sorted out the details, Aziraphale happily gave Barachiel the recommended books for free. He left with an armful.

As soon as he was gone, Crowley was in Aziraphale’s face. “Eager to get me out of the way, huh?”

Aziraphale gently nudged Crowley out of his personal space. “Crowley, what are you on about?”

“I’m a _primary source_ for a lot of history, too. Probably an even better one, since I haven’t spent the last millennia with my nose stuck in a book.”

“But you were clearly hostile to him. I thought you’d prefer to stay out of it.”

“I don’t.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Then of course you can come. Just be polite.”

“Why should I?” Crowley growled. “He’s an agent of Heaven, and he even said they're is planning a fate worse than death for you. He obviously knows the details. He’s lying.”

Aziraphale’s gut told him otherwise. “I don’t think so.”

“Again,” Crowley seethed, “how can someone as brilliant as you be such an idiot sometimes?”

“If you’re going to call me names, I must ask you to leave the shop for the day.”

“Fine.” Crowley grabbed his jacket and stomped toward the door. “Have a nice _date_.”

Despite the fight, Aziraphale’s heart leapt. Was Crowley _jealous?_


	2. And you're to blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley meets his successor.

Crowley found himself driving the Bentley to his former favorite wallowing pub, Enterprise. But that was where he had gone when he thought Aziraphale was gone forever, and he didn’t dare step back inside and relive those memories.

Instead, he went across the street from it, to a pub called The Dolphin. It turned out to have a quaint atmosphere and serve thai food. Aziraphale would love it.

He was three beers in, ranting to no one about how the pub’s name made it sound like dolphins were, in fact, thai food, when he sensed a presence. Had Barachiel followed him? 

No. This presence was demonic.

He twisted to look toward the door just as it opened and a tan-skinned man in terrible need of a haircut ambled in.

He was wearing slacks and an untucked button-down with no jacket against the February weather, but he wasn’t shivering. He scanned the room, spotted Crowley, and offered a small smile. 

Crowley stared at him blankly, carefully keeping the interest from his features. 

The demon walked over. 

“Felt your presence from across the street,” he said, taking the seat opposite Crowley. “I need to talk to you, but it felt creepy to show up at your door, after what happened with Ligur. So I’ve been hanging out in Enterprise, trying to catch you. Hastur said it was one of your favorite haunts.”

“Not anymore,” Crowley admitted. “What do you want?”

The man raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not here to trouble you. My name is Kokabiel. I’m taking over as Hell’s Earthly fomenter. Let me grab a drink. Don’t run off.”

“Sounds like an idea.”

Kokabiel just laughed.

Crowley inspected him as he ordered at the bar. His features were Mesopotamian, perhaps Saudi. His face was shaven with skilled fades, so why was his hair so unruly? 

Was it a fashion statement? Was he witnessing another demon making a _fashion statement?_

He came back with an ale in hand. “Crowley, right? Call me Koka. I’m here to ask, think you can you help me get things rolling around here?”

Crowley snorted. “If you’re looking for a human job, I can’t help you. I don’t work. Ran a nightclub for a bit back in the early 90s but I didn’t like what it turned me into.” He’d been a real dick to a Aziraphale, there for a few months.

“No, I can figure that part out. I’m looking for advice.” He leaned in. “I took this job because rumor is, Earth can be a lot of fun, and the humans do a lot of the work for you. Is that true?”

In spite of himself, Crowley was detecting a kindred spirit, maybe even warming to the bastard. “It’s not wrong.”

“Perfect,” Koka said. “Loop me in. What have the humans been up to I could start taking credit for?”

Crowley ran a long finger around the rim of his mug. “I guess I never got around to taking credit for deepfakes.”

“What are those?”

Crowley explained. Thankfully, Koka was familiar with the concepts of videos and the internet. 

“Oh, and there’s an app that just came out that can use facial recognition to find people’s addresses. A total wet dream of creeps everywhere.”

Koka looked confused. “A nap?”

Ah, so this would be where he got lost. Crowley pulled out his phone and explained about apps. While he was showing him what Facebook was, a text message from Aziraphale popped up.

_ Call me, please. I do despise fighting with you. _

Crowley slammed the phone face-down on the table. 

Koka looked at him blankly. “You didn’t have to do that. I know who Aziraphale is. I know you’re friends. Everyone does, now.”

“Right,” Crowley said, discarding the notification. “Old habits.”

“Has his replacement arrived yet?”

“About an hour ago, actually.”

Koka leaned back in his chair and folded his arms with a scowl. “That’s a strange coincidence. I wonder if the back channels are at play.”

“Back channels?”

“People in Heaven and Hell who keep in touch. Ligur talks to someone upstairs all the time.”

“Wait. You mean he  _ did  _ talk to someone, right?”

“Oh, no. When everything got reset after the almost-alypse, he revived. He skipped town to take a vacation for a while, but he came back eventually.”

Crowley shook his head. “Can’t believe he hasn’t come after me, himself.”

“If you ask me, I think he’s scared. Even Beez is kinda scared of you, now. It’s not stopping her from plotting some kind of revenge against you, but I don’t think she’s going to be quite so hands-on this time.”

Crowley suddenly hoped very hard that he could trust this person. “What did she say?”

“Something about making you wish you were dead without you even knowing why. I’d tell you more if I knew, swear.”

Crowley found himself believing him. Mostly.

“Hey, I’ll help if I can, if you help me. Deal?”

“Sure,” Crowley said. 

“Now,” Koka said, a new glint in his eye. “On to the important stuff. When’s your birthday?”

“Uh, I wasn’t  _ born… _ ”

“Yeah, yeah, when was the first time you appeared in a human body on Earth?”

“Somewhere in February, 4003 B.C.”

Koka looked at him sternly. “February what?” 

Crowley sighed. “22nd. Why?”

“Ooh, that’s in a few days,” Koka grinned. 

“Don’t you dare get me anything,” Crowley said. “That’s a silly human tradition, and I barely know you.”

"That's not what I wanted it for. See, I was the one… who gave humans…" He drumrolled on the table and whispered, "astrology."

Crowley cringed but smiled. "Of course you did. Of course they would send  _ you _ ." This bastard was the bastard who bastardized the stars Crowley had helped build, and then taught humans how to bastardize them. The bastard. 

"So you're a Pisces. My first day on earth way back when was June 10th, so I'm a Taurus. We're very compatible. Almost ideally so."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "And that matters because…?"

"Because I intend to pester you for advice every chance I get." Koka winked. 

“Don’t tell me you actually believe in the stuff.”

“Of course not,” Koka said. “I invented it. But it’s terribly fun to pretend. And annoy people with.”

Definitely a demon after Crowley’s own heart. Damn it all.

Koka stretched and tipped back his chair. “So, I know you need to go make that phone call now, so when can I annoy you next?”

Crowley almost said, “Surprise me,” but then he had a better idea. “How would you feel about an early lunch tomorrow?”

*

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief when his mobile rang and Crowley’s name lit up the screen. He answered right away. “Hello, dear.”

“Hi,” Crowley said. He sounded like he was feeling better, and that made Aziraphale perk up, too.

“Listen,” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel left out or jealous earlier. I just met Barachiel, of course you mean more to me.”

Crowley scoffed. “Jealous? I wasn’t jealous, I was just… ugh. I just don’t want him to trap you and try to put you in a column of hellfire, okay?”

Aziraphale’s heart twinged at Crowley’s denial, but a part of him thought the demon doth protest too much. 

“I’ll be careful.”

“I met my replacement, too,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale straightened. “Who is it?”

“I’d never met him before. Kokabiel, inventor of astrology. A mischief-making bastard if I ever met one. Total goof.”

Aziraphale’s heart twinged again. “It almost sounds like you like him.”

“He seems alright,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale let both smugness and concern seep into his voice. “And you’re sure he’s not going to trap you and stick you in holy water?”

“Point taken,” Crowley grumbled. “I’m meeting him for lunch tomorrow, so don’t worry about me crashing on you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Expressionless.”

He still sounded jealous.

“I would like to meet this successor of yours, sometime,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley’s tone was guarded. “Sure. It sounds like he’ll be around.”

Crowley was being a jealous jerk and trying to make Aziraphale jealous too, wasn’t he? And yet Aziraphale didn’t think he was lying.

“Let me know how it goes tomorrow. Reach out if you need me.”

“Sure,” Crowley grunted. 

Aziraphale sighed and clicked off. 

  
  



	3. You give love a bad name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Cupid.

Aziraphale arrived at the Dean Street Townhouse Restaurant at 10:30 the next morning to find Barachiel already there, waiting outside at a table.

“Thanks for waiting in the cold, dear boy,” Aziraphale said. 

  
  


Barachiel shrugged. “It’s easier with a jacket.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Now that I think about it, you weren’t wearing an outer layer yesterday. Why was that?”

“Wanted to see what it felt like.”

Aziraphale found himself, once again, impressed. Barachiel was so committed to the human experience. He was definitely different from Gabriel.

“After you,” Aziraphale said, holding the door for him.

He nodded and stepped inside. He seemed content to let Aziraphale take the lead talking to the host and requesting a circular table instead of a half-booth.

They settled into cushy, high-backed chairs. Barachiel stared blankly at the artwork on the walls, and Aziraphale remembered belatedly that this particular restaurant’s abstract pieces tended to be highly sexual. He hoped it didn’t make Barachiel uncomfortable.

“So,” Aziraphale said, setting his napkin in his lap. “Did you get any of that reading done?”

“Yes,” Barachiel said. “It was very helpful.”

“Wait - did you read all of it?”

“Most of it. I had time.”

Aziraphale realized he shouldn’t have been surprised, but Barachiel’s diligence just kept blowing him away.

And yet he seemed… immovable. Emotionless, like Crowley had said.

If he didn't have much experience with emotions, living amongst humans would change that very quickly. 

“I must warn you,” Aziraphale said. “The hardest part of being on Earth is getting attached to humans. Their lifespans are so short.”

Barachiel nodded. “I know.”

Aziraphale decided to push. “Are you prepared for the kind of heartache it takes to care about these people and watch them lose their lives? To see many of them end up in Hell?”

“I’ll learn.”

“It’s not an easy thing to learn. I help the humans wherever I can, of course, but you already care in ways I never did, and it makes me concerned for you.”

Barachiel was quiet, eyes unfocused. 

Aziraphale felt awkward. Had he upset him?

A waiter arrived. Barachiel let Aziraphale order tea and food for him, and when the waiter left, Barachiel finally spoke.

“Are you familiar with my background?” 

“You were the head of the guardian angels for a long time. You’re a patron of family. Are you saying you already know how to interact with humans? Because living on Earth changes things, I assure you.”

“I don’t doubt,” Barachiel said. “Family and marriage.”

“Sorry?”

“I’ve served as a patron of family and marriage. But I have no such connections.” His face betrayed no emotion, but he said, “I understand heartache.”

Aziraphale was delighted to get him to open up, but this answer wasn’t ideal. “That makes me even more worried. You’ll be tempted to make family out of the humans. What if you fall in love with one?”

“No,” Barachiel said. “That won’t happen.”

“Forgive me for pushing, but whyever not?”

Barachiel was quiet again. Aziraphale bore this silence more easily, knowing it didn’t necessarily mean Barachiel was angry.

The waiter brought their tea, and Barachiel remained quiet for several minutes after. 

“I do not have family,” Barachiel finally said, voice quiet. His eyes had gone softer. “But I do have someone… significant.”

That was rare for an angel. Aziraphale debated for a long moment, then said, “As do I.”

To his relief, Barachiel didn’t ask if it was Crowley. Then again, he probably knew and didn’t have to, which might have been worse. He simply looked up and smiled a tiny smile. 

“Do you want to tell me about them?” Aziraphale asked. 

Barachiel looked away. “They’re an angel. I’ll use male pronouns, since that’s what he’s more comfortable with on Earth. He’s also involved in romance, so we’ve worked together closely. But he would have said something by now if I was this significant to him.”

It was the most, and most emotionally, Barachiel had spoken yet. 

Aziraphale’s mind raced through other angels involved in romance, but he halted his own speculation.

“Thank you for telling me. I must admit, I like that you trust me enough to tell me. I find myself quite fascinated with you and your honor. I’d like to be friends.”

Barachiel frowned slightly, and for a moment, Aziraphale thought he’d offended him. He spoke slowly. “I admire you, also. It’s a little irrational, I think.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Should I be offended?”

Barachiel shook his head. “No. I know someone who specializes in irrational, immediate connections. He was in the area recently. This is possibly too strange to be a coincidence.”

Aziraphale thought a moment. “You know, Crowley and I sensed an ethereal presence the day before yesterday. I assumed it was you. Were you already here?”

“I was not.” Barachiel straightened and tucked his dreadlocks behind his shoulders. “I’m going to pray to him and confront him.”

“Now?” Aziraphale asked. 

Barachiel’s eyes were already closed. His mouth moved in silent prayer. 

Aziraphale braced himself, looking around the room. Would the angel even show? Who in Heaven was it?

He was looking toward the front door when a nearby slam startled him. He whipped his head around.

A man - an angel - in his early 30s stood with his hands flat on the table. His skin was pale - almost too pale. His hair was stark white. His eyes were pink - a brighter shade than the business suit he wore. 

He had a quiver and bow strapped to his back. 

He grinned at Barachiel, completely ignoring Aziraphale. “Barachiel! What a surprise, what do you want to talk about?”

Barachiel took a breath. He seemed… nervous. “Cupid. Did you shoot me?” He motioned towards Aziraphale. “Us?” 

_ Cupid.  _

Cupid was an extremely busy angel - Aziraphale had never laid eyes on him before. He was practically mythical.

And yet he’d dropped everything to answer Barachiel’s call.

Cupid pulled a chair from another table and seated himself. “Risky questions, risky answers,” he said in singsong. “And questions are always risky in Heaven, right? Come on, I can’t tell humans when they’ve been shot, how would it be fair for me to tell you?”

“Fair point,” Barachiel sighed. 

Aziraphale’s bullshit radar went off. “No, we’re privy to the information that you exist, so we should be privy to such information about ourselves. Did you shoot us?”

Cupid gave him a disgusted up-down and leaned back in his seat. “Aziraphale, isn’t it? Disgraced angel who hasn’t fallen because God hasn’t gotten the memo yet? Am I right?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “How would you know who I am? We’ve never met.”

“You’ve never seen me, but I’ve seen youuuu,” Cupid sang. 

It was like talking to a hyperactive child. No wonder Cupid was always portrayed as an infant. He was infantile.

“Cue, you’re being rude,” Barachiel said. His face, normally passive, was an open book, and he was close to tears. “Aziraphale is right, and you’re avoiding the question. Did you shoot us?”

Cupid sighed. “If I told you, it would break the miracle.”

Barachiel shook his head in exasperated puzzlement. “What are you - ?”

“Kidding!” Cupid said. “If you’ve been shot, nothing anyone says or does can undo it. So I guess it doesn’t matter. Yeah, I shot ya.”

Aziraphale’s heart clenched. Did this mean he was going to fall out of love with Crowley?

Barachiel slowly closed his eyes. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Cupid said. “Order came from up high. I’d never been assigned anyone celestial before, and suddenly, bam, two assignments.”

“Two?” Aziraphale asked. His mind went to Crowley and Kokabiel. 

The waiter, at that moment, arrived with food. “Oh! Where did your friend come from?”

“Heaven,” Cupid said, batting his white eyelashes.

The waiter smiled. “Would you like to order anything?”

“Nah, I’m leaving in a sec.”

Barachiel looked drained. He stared at his hands in his lap. “Cupid, why would you do this?”

Cupid shrugged. “You know I can’t argue with Michael and Gabriel. Now.” He whirled on Aziraphale and grabbed his bowtie. 

Aziraphale gaped. 

“ _ You _ better treat him  _ right _ ,” Cupid spat. “Barachiel is my  _ best  _ friend, and I  _ will  _ know if you treat him wrong. If you break his heart, I’ll shoot you in a whole different way, and I doubt Heaven would let you come back.”

Cupid let go. Across the table, Barachiel was glaring through tears in his eyes. “Uncalled for.”

Cupid stood and grinned cheekily at Barachiel. “See you later, Rocky.”

And he was gone. 

*

Aziraphale requested boxes for the food so he and Barachiel could escape to the bookstore and talk freely. Barachiel’s expression was blank again, but tears leaked from his eyes. 

It was good that Barachiel was so comfortable with silence, though, because Aziraphale was deep in his head during all of this.

Finally, sitting across from Barachiel with a box of tissue on the coffee table between them, Aziraphale braved the topic. 

“Cupid is the one you’re in love with.”

Barachiel nodded. “And you love Crowley.”

“I do. Now.” Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Listen to what we just said.”

Barachiel wiped his face with a tissue. “Sorry?”

“Barachiel. Cupid might have shot us, but  _ it didn’t work. _ We’re both still in love with other people. Shooting us did something, yes. It gave us some connection, attachment. Almost like a friend-crush, a squish, I think it’s called. But my feelings for you are not romantic. How about your feelings for me?”

Barachiel’s tears had finally stopped. He looked hopeful. “I like you, but it’s not like what Cue and I have. I could have hundreds of connections like you, and I’d be happy. I only want the one connection like Cupid.”

“Well put,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose it’s possible that our feelings could grow and change over time, that only a seed has been planted. Do you know how it works?”

“It makes you fall out of love with anyone you’re currently in love with,” Barachiel said. “It changes your focus.” 

“If that’s the case, it didn’t work. Maybe it’s because we’re celestial.”

“But even then, that’s good news for  _ you _ ,” Barachiel said. “Not for me. Cupid still shot me. He wouldn’t have shot me if he loved me.”

“If the order came from up high, he didn’t have a choice. He might even have convinced himself that it was what would make you happy. Or…” Aziraphale’s mind sped like Crowley in the Bentley. “...maybe that’s  _ why  _ it didn’t work. He was reticent to shoot.” 

“You think?”

“He was as hostile to me as Crowley was to you,” Aziraphale said. “And I have reason to believe Crowley’s hostility stemmed from jealousy.”

“Jealousy,” Barachiel echoed. 

“Think about it,” Aziraphale said. “If Cupid supported this relationship, he would have been happy to meet me. There might have been some threatening involved, but not that level of disdain.”

“Really?”

“I can’t be certain, of course, but this theory makes more sense to me than the alternative. The question now becomes… who was involved in Cupid’s other celestial assignment? And if he shot Crowley and Kokabiel, did it work on them?” 

Barachiel breathed, his face relaxing back into expressionlessness. “No idea.”

He leaned forward and looked Barachiel in the blank yet red-rimmed eyes. “Either way, I have a plan to help you. If you like.”

Those eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Cupid doesn’t strike me as someone who keeps his emotions in check very well,” Aziraphale said. “I think I’m just enough of a bastard to take advantage of that. So I say… let’s let him think it worked and see how he reacts. What do you think? If he were jealous, would he be able to contain it?”

“Not very well,” Barachiel said. “Not for long.”

“Are you willing to deceive him? I think a little deception might be fair, considering he shot you.”

Barachiel was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I am.”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled. 

His next order of business would be to warn Crowley. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barachiel looks a bit like this, but a little older and less beefy. https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/handsome-muscular-black-man-dreadlocks-wearing-1185560122
> 
> Kokabiel looks like Saudi Badr al-Zidane. Maybe a bit goofier.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments keep me aliiiiiive (:


End file.
